Therapy
by WhiteRusskie
Summary: Patient Michael Myers becomes the invisible shrink for a broken Dr. Loomis. (a prequel to DF:Carys)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note-** I'm going to warn before reading that this is going to be sad. I actually had to debate to myself if I wanted to write this or not but as usual once a  
>thought goes into my deranged mind I can't help but stick to it. Since this is more of a prequel to <em>Demitri's Fantastique: Carys <em>you could if you like skip this story and read the said mentioned instead, it's a little happier then what I'm going to write. Now if you're the type that likes, I don't know, sad stories then knock yourself out and enjoy.

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><p>I'm glad Sam has found someone. If Carys didn't come into the picture soon enough I think I wouldn't have been able to save him. I witnessed his first breakdown about two or three years ago after I was done visiting my mother's grave. Usually when I 'dream' I always visit places I view as special like my old school, my old house, and of course my mother's resting place. I was about to visit my old house when I saw a single white Pontiac drive into a parking spot. I wouldn't have bothered to venture further if my doctor hadn't stepped out of the car. There was a look of panic and disbelief in his eyes I've never seen before.<p>

"Dr. Loomis?" I asked out loud even though it was pointless, he wouldn't be able to hear me. I was behind him as he marched up the hill, repeating, "please don't be true," as if whatever was up there wasn't real. That tombstone up the hill looks pretty real to me. Once we've finally reached the grave on the hill I swear everything froze. The birds stopped chirping, the wind came to a halt, even the construction nearby went dead silent. Sam fell to his knees in front of the grave of Judy Loomis, pure shock was written on his face. He must have been in that position for five minutes until he went back to his car which was another five minutes of him sitting inside it.

"Was that your wife?" I asked, thinking that maybe she died and somehow he didn't know about it. I wasn't expecting an answer when he answered, "My first wife…..we divorced some time ago." I looked at Sam in surprise, "You can hear me?" He didn't respond. A second later he turned on the ignition and started to drive.

The car was deadly silent as we drove to his place. Sam looked like he was trying to keep it together but I can see the glossiness in his eyes he was ready to cry. Hating how silent it was, I told Sam to turn on the radio. The first song that popped up was "I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues," by Elton John, one of the many sad songs Sam had to change during what felt like a long trip home.

Finally reaching his place Sam had tears streaming down his face as he got out of the car and into his house. Have you ever seen a grown man cry? I've never thought men cried, not even psychologist like Sam. At first everything was quiet, then Sam began to cry softly in his hands. For fifteen minutes I watched him sitting on the floor of his house crying. I knew I've done nothing bad toward him but I felt rather guilty for just standing there watching someone straight up sob. I was about to kneel down to touch him when he bolted up and went upstairs to the bathroom. I found him struggling with a bottle of sleeping pills.

"Dr. Loomis….what are you doing?" I asked, hesitantly. I had a feeling I knew what they were for but I had to ask.

"I'm going to s-sleep," whimpered Sam, "I'm g-going to s-sleep f-forever!" Once he'd successfully opened the cap I hit the bottle out of his hand, pills scattering everywhere. "No!" screamed Sam in horror. He went on his knees to collect the pills off the floor. "I need them, I need them to…sleep," he said, collecting most of the pills.

"Sam, they're not going to help you," I said, my hand gently gripping his arm. He stopped his need to find the scattered few on the floor, his arm shaking in anticipation to either be consumed or scattered with their comrades. Sam released the pills with a low moan of despair. "It's going to be ok. Whatever happened today things are going to be alright."

"No it's not," he whimpered, "I-I have n-no one and it's-it's my fault. I made them sad."

"Who?"

"Judy….Debbie…..Mommy, I made them so sad. They-they went away a-and I wish….I wish…I wish….." Sam only broke down in tears again, leaving that 'wish' incomplete. At the time I couldn't actually hug him without falling through the other side of his body so I had to settle with rubbing his back. Something I watched mom do whenever little sis gets upset.

"Shhh, it's ok you just need to relax," I said in a calm manner. I think weirding out like I was feeling right then would only make things worse. The crying was down to a few sniffles, he wasn't exactly calm but at least he got a hold of himself. "Right now you need a glass of water and a place to lie down and talk," I said, it took awhile but eventually he got up and went downstairs to the kitchen. I watched him get a glass from the cupboard, ice from the freezer and water from the tap. He held the glass with two hands as if the glass were to slip easily from his hands. I guess crying makes you really thirsty because Sam drank that water in seconds.

"Are you ready to talk, Sam?" I asked as he put the empty glass on the counter. He nodded his head and went to the living room. He lied himself down on a comfortable blue couch with a white blanket on top. Sam took the blanket from the top and wrapped it around himself from head to foot then lie back down in a fetal position. It was so childlike I forgot this was an old man I was talking to.

"I made them so sad and I failed to make them happy."

"Are you meaning Judy, Debbie, and….Mommy?"

"Yes," whispered Sam, whipping his eyes with the blanket, very childlike indeed. I crouched to my knees next to the arm were he rested his head, thinking about what to say next. The last thing I wanted to do was come off as harsh or unfeeling when I finally asked, "Can you tell me about Judy?"

Our therapy session lasted almost an hour, most of it on Judy. He met Judy at boarding school when they were young. She was the reason why he became a psychologist and married her once they became U.S. citizens. The marriage was wonderful until Judy started hearing voices in her head. When Judy tired to kill herself she had to be treated in a hospital for some time then was given medication that made her less intimate. The lack of intimacy from the drugs was part of the reason he became unfaithful with his second wife, Ginger.

"I told her I couldn't handle it anymore," he said, I can hear in his voice he was about to cry again. "In my loneliness I thought Ginger loved me but….she never did." Sam buried his face into the blanket, trying to collect himself before continuing. "I found Ginger in our bed with a attractive, young man…..and you know what she said?"

"What did she say Sam?"

'I don't find you attractive anymore, you're too old,' he said, "When she said that to me I felt so….._ugly_. After she left the house I got very drunk, thinking about Judy and realizing she always said 'I love you' and Ginger never said those words to me so I decided to go see her the next day thinking she was alive but once I found out Judy…..wasn't there. She'll never….be there…to say…..I love you, Sam!" He buried his face into the blanket again but this time he cried uncontrollably. I touched the blanket covering his head. I could feel the warmth seeping underneath the soft fabric, grazing from his head to shoulder like you could a pet.

"She told…..everyone one not to…..say anything to me…b-because she didn't want me…to feel like-like it was my f-fault…but….it is my fault. I shouldn't have…left her…alone, s-so I-I'm alone….and I will be…alone…forever."

"No you're not Sam," I said being as soothing as I can possibly be. "I'm sure there is someone there to keep you company. Do you have any family or friends you can stay with?"

"My family's all gone….and….I don't have any friends. They all m-moved on with th-their lives…with their wives and….babies. There was a time….I wanted to be…a daddy. I just…."

"Do you want to…..find professional help?" I asked, hesitantly. I had the feeling this went deeper then just the lose of a wife. Sure a husband can mourn but it was never this bad, at least that's what I feel so I thought professional help would suite better. After all I'm not a trained therapist or anything.

"I can't, they'll judge me for….having a problem," he said, "Shrinks aren't suppose to be…unbalanced."

"Ok, Sam," I said looking at the clock hanging on the wall. It was almost time for me to go. "I'm going to be leaving soon so I want you to make me a promise not to harm yourself in anyway, are you ok with that?" Sam nodded his head in response. "Good…now before I leave I want you to do something that's relaxing for you." He nodded his head again, the blanket unfolding around his shoulders.

"I'm going to sound crazy but….whoever is here….thank you for listening to me. No one has bothered to listen to me before," he said, almost softly. I'll never forget how sad his eyes were, they looked too young to be on an aged face. I followed him back up the stairs with the white blanket in his hands, passed the bathroom were the scattered pills lie and into his bedroom where he crawled into bed.

"Things are going to be fine," he whispered but I knew things weren't going to be fine, not yet.


	2. Chapter 2

For a while I observed Dr. Loomis on his daily routine. The whole morning seemed to be a burden to him, even waking up seemed like a task. Most of the time I had to help him out by either pushing him lightly or telling him he was almost done. At home he looked like the saddest person in the world but, when he was doing his job he was the understanding, caring psychologist. I'll have to admit it was the perfect front, you wouldn't even think he was having emotional problems unless you were looking closely. I think this is from personal experience but, I could see in his eyes he was hurting. He might be smiling when in reality he was hurting inside.

After work Sam would go back home. Once again I would have to urge him to move because he would always sit still in the same spot for long periods of time weather it be in the car or in some place in the house. The way he would stare out at nothing while being a statue always reminded me of the patient ward below the criminal ward. They always had that 'stare' when they're heavily medicated. I blame the pills he self prescribes under Snow, it's like somebody scooped out his soul and left a hollow shell that can breathe. I know this sounds terrible but, I'd rather him be crying with feeling then numbed, that way I know he's there so I can help whenever I could.

Even though he was suffering from depression (he denied it for a while, 'just under the weather,' he would say) there had been some moments I'd seen him happy, mostly when working with children. We discussed this in one of our sessions.

"I've always wanted a child," he began. "Judy and I tried many times to conceive and always end up failing. When we went to the doctor it turned out she was sterile. We were planning on adoption but….you know, Ginger came along." He paused for a few moments. Apparently the topic of Ginger seems to be a touchy subject, he would always want to put it to the side or just not want to talk about it at all. Of course, Ginger's not the only problem. When I try to talk about Debbie or Mommy he would just up and leave to the bedroom, mainly to cry.

"Could you tell me about the children you work with?" I asked, changing the subject. Sam actually brightened with a smile, an actual smile which is an achievement. I hardly ever see him smile out of his own free will.

"They're wonderful, even the troublesome ones. Children I believe are honest and innocent little creatures on this earth yet they're so fragile. I've seen some cases myself where if a child is abused enough they usually grow to either be hostile or low-esteemed adults. Whenever I deal with a child from an abused home I try my best to help them as a professional psychologist but, sometimes all I really want to do is take them away and adopt them as my own."

"Are you wanting to adopt Ezra?" I asked, Sam made another long pause. Ezra is a eight year old patient of Sam's. From what I've observed Ezra's mother committed suicide last year and the father has become an alcoholic. As of late the father remarried and has been abusive with the boy until he went into foster care. I think out of all the children Sam seemed to connect with Ezra the most. As I've said before, this goes way deeper then the death of Judy.

"I'll admit I wanted to adopt Ezra, I understand how he feels," confessed Sam. "My own father was a heavy drinker when I was growing up and sometimes he would get violent. In a way I'm glad my father got re-married to a rich woman who was more then happy to send me to boarding school. I think I reminded her too much of my father's previous marriage."

"What about your mother?"

"My mother…my mother….she….I thought she loved me!" said Sam, crying yet again. As of now I'm pretty much used to these emotional outbursts but, still I wish I didn't mention his mother. Mommy seems to be the deep root of the problem. I went over to Sam's side and rubbed his back. "Ok Sam, we won't have to talk about it, at least not now. Eventually we have to or else the problem won't go away." I could feel a tug on my side that my body was ready to get up.

"We'll talk some more later, Sam," I said, feeling a little uneasy. I never like leaving him like this, I always get the feeling he might hurt himself. "Remember I'm going to be back really soon, ok."

"Ok," he whispered then he went upstairs and I watched him go into his bedroom before going back into my body.


End file.
